


Duplicit-hiss

by maximum_overboner



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Lighthearted, Oneshot, bit of cheeky cosmic horror for the road, comedy with a slight dark streak, mystery is afoot, one sided lizardhat, where is black hat going at night...?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Black Hat has been in a good mood lately! He smiles, he looks off dreamily into the distance; he's in the throes of what may be romantic love! Dementia handles this cooly and calmly; dead-set on stabbing this mystery woman to death so she can muscle in as the prime romantic candidate in Black Hat's life.One night she follows him to see where he goes.





	Duplicit-hiss

**Author's Note:**

> :3c

Black Hat had been happier lately.

The change in demeanour was slight but noticeable. Dementia had picked up on it with her obsessive diligence. It wasn’t much, but it was there, and great enough to be considered significant. His mood was lighter and, sometimes, when he thought nobody was looking, a smile would play gently on his lips. This naturally infuriated Dementia, because she wasn’t the one bringing about this change in mood, even if he was as sullen as ever when there was work to be done. She considered the possibilities. Was business booming? No, no, ever since the anti-gravity device they had been haemorrhaging money. Was a big deal on the cards? Perhaps. She wasn’t privy to the business side of things. She would just be pointed in a direction and would march off swinging until whoever she was set upon stopped moving. Was he… Seeing someone?

She was two fistfuls deep into a bowl of popcorn. She turned to face him. There was that fond, distant smile again. He wasn’t paying attention to the movie, even that bit he liked where the tourists were stabbed to death by cultish yokels; generally considered to be the worst kind. She grit her teeth and restrained herself, vowing to find out who he was seeing and chase them off, perhaps with a gentle word or a stab wound. But if she wanted to pin down this illicit skank she had to be stealthy. The evenings were his. That must be when it happened.

He moved when the dark crept in, as the sun was slung low and the clouds draped gently over one another. Always from his study to his bedroom, following the waning light to the place where he could be most at ease. Dementia desperately wanted to see the inside, both out of lust and an earnest, maddening curiosity. But both she and Flug had been expressly forbidden from entering. Bothering him in the study, while annoying, was understandable. There was a chance a true emergency would spring up that had to be attended to. Bothering him not just in the bedroom but in that entire wing of the house was considered suicide. He had made that explicit from the very beginning. Flug gulped and accepted this from the outset, content to tinker in his lab and hide in his room when the day was over. Dementia, less so. She clung to the ceiling, displaying unusual patience, and skittered in behind him as he swung open the large mahogany door separating his wing from the rest of the mansion. The creak of the door masked her movements and her invisibility afforded her some room for error. He paused, checked behind him, then shut the door and continued on, walking and swinging his cane rhythmically. She followed behind. He walked for a while, stopping occasionally to look at the various decorations strewn about the hallway. Some of it very expensive, some of it holding nothing but a sentimental value he would never tell her about. Finally, he came to the very end of the hallway, to the darkest, most extravagant door. Dementia had to time this carefully. She planned, prepared, held herself taut and sprung forward when it was opened. She mistimed it and moved too soon, battering her skull against the thick oak with a curse. Black Hat swung around, his eyes darting to and fro. If he had walked back out he would have tread on her, flat out on the floor though still invisible. He narrowed his eyes, wary, then clicked the door shut behind him.

Dementia picked herself up, let her invisibility drop so as to save her energy, suppressed a shriek and shook her fists. She couldn’t squeeze in undetected, these antique doors squeal to announce they’re being opened. She would just have to give in. Leave, try another time, and pretend she had been in her room all night if questioned. She sighed, getting to her feet and dusting off her knees when she heard him through the door, muffled but audible.

“It’s been too long. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spend time with you recently. Work has been very hectic, but I’m sure you understand.”

She abandoned all pretence of leaving and mashed her ear to the door. Maddeningly, she couldn’t make out what she was saying. Only Black Hat was close enough.

“Good,” Black Hat said, with a warmth and candour to his voice that she had never heard, “I was worried.”

He moved across the room, growing quieter with distance. Dementia had to strain, but she could hear him.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to catch up. You wouldn’t believe the nonsense I’ve had to put up with this week. Do you remember the Dujardin contract? Tried to make off without paying! I thought I was having a stroke. Right there and then, started talking to his assistant about upping and leaving, as if I couldn’t speak French!”

Black Hat said something in French. Dementia didn’t understand it, but she knew enough about tone to make out that he was cursing wildly.

“-- The nerve of it! Trying to scam me! Just as I was going to scam him, as well! I forced him to pay, then started thinking on how to extract my vengeance. Thought about killing his family, but it turned out he had actually killed his family years ago to inherit his estate, so I did the next best thing and pushed his cousin down the stairs. In any case, I didn’t lose any money, and I did get to push a stranger down the stairs, so even if I’ve lost a client it’s overall a win. And Dujardin knows. He knows that if he ever dares to show his face again, I’ll find him. I’ll hurt him. I’ll look at what he loves and push it down the stairs. Failing that, I can always let loose my singing voice and watching him turn inside-out eyes first. With all the colours their guts make is like letting loose slinkies in a tumble dryer. Remind me to show you one day. That would make a good birthday present, don’t you think?”

There was a pause, and he laughed.

“Of course I didn’t forget! Who do you take me for? You’ll wound me, saying things like that… Oh, you! You do so love my stories. This is serendipitous! I also love my stories. They all have me in them. And what about you, how have you been?”

Dementia had her ear pressed to the door, but couldn’t hear what was said. Only his responses. His sincere, hideously fond responses. She felt the bile churn in her gut like it was going to eat right through her.

“I see, I see. You look very well, I can tell you that much-- no, I’m not flattering you! Take the compliment.”

He hummed in agreement. Dementia could only assume he was nodding. She seethed with envy.

“Well, that’s always stressful. It’s natural to fear change. So I’ve heard. If it makes you feel better, you don’t seem stressed.”  

Stressed? Who was this, a business associate? Dementia racked her brains. She could only think of a handful, but he would bring them up dismissively. It could be that he would only treat them with scorn in front of her, to mislead her.

“Don’t be like that. If you’re angry, just come out and say it. Don’t give me the silent treatment, I deserve that much.”

… Not immediately escalating to a death threat over being slighted? Dementia could cry. Smitten! He was smitten!

“Oh, I’m too soft with you. I can never stay angry when you look at me like that. Dinner?”

Smitten!

“-- And what a handsome man you are, too! Very striking. I consider myself lucky, to have held your attention! You really should show your face more often, you’re positively arresting.”

… Hold on, man? Handsome? That didn’t show his-- oh no, it couldn’t be! It couldn’t!

Dr Flug!

That was what Flug was hiding, he must have looked like some perfect model under that bag! She was going to kill him! That was why Black Hat had been so reticent, sleeping with the shit subordinate when there was another sexy and fantastic one available to him at all times, that would be shameful! Dementia was near foaming with rage but felt compelled to listen.

“Ah! Aha, how droll! Arresting! I’m glad you picked up on it. Yes, yes, you don’t have to explain it, don’t worry.”

He sighed wistfully.

“You’re the only one that understands me around here. Come here. Oh, do you not have time for a little embrace?”

Dementia was clutching her fist. A false nail popped off from the force.

“That’s what I thought. Stop being so fussy, honestly. There, isn’t this better? I bought you a present. I know, I know, you said not to, but I couldn’t resist. You’re too easy to spoil.”

She heard the crinkling of a plastic bag and genuine, crippling delight in Black Hat’s voice.

“Ta-da! What do you think?”

He eagerly awaited the response.

“I knew you would like it. I picked it out myself, you know! And who has better taste than me?”

Black Hat became very coy. It dripped from his voice. Dementia couldn’t even begin to imagine the expression on his face. She had never seen anything approximating it.

“Oh, I shouldn’t,” he teased, “I shouldn’t… But I will.”

Dementia heard it, then. The distinct, unmistakable sound of a tiny smooch. She clutched her chest. That should be her tiny smooch! Not Flug’s! She was a menace and Flug couldn’t intimidate a dying mouse, how was this in any way fair? He had moved further into the room and she had to strain further, hard enough to give herself a headache.

“Don’t tell anyone, but… I do happen to love you...”

Dementia was going to kick the shit out of Flug! How dare he! Flug was a mess! Could barely do his job! He was shredded bits and pieces of what a normal person should be, mashed together inside that bag like a clinically depressed coleslaw! Oh, she was not having this, not one bit. Dementia would have prefered to catch Black Hat in an illicit embrace with 5.0.5 because then she could at least point and laugh, but this was beyond the pale! She would not be upstaged by this bag of flour dumped into jeans! She kicked the door open, breaking a hinge and turning the antique wood to splinters. She let loose a roar.

“You!”

Black Hat looked at her, frozen. There was no illicit tryst, there was no sensual affair, just a man and his beloved pet python draped over his shoulders. It looked at the source of the noise, then resumed its slow, dopey crawl down Black Hat’s arm. Dementia’s anger dissipated entirely, making way for confusion.

“Wait, what?”

Black Hat looked at her with the primal terror of a man that had just been caught doing something extremely embarrassing. He held the snake defensively, as if shielding him from her.

“What are you doing here! You know damn well you’re not allowed in this wing of the house!”

She blinked.

“Where is he?”

“Where’s who?”

“Flug! I know he’s in here!”

Black Hat was beet red, mortified. His voice cracked.

“He isn’t. He’s probably in his room, building his shitty little planes. What are you doing here? Get out! Go on, leave!”

Slowly, she put the pieces together. She looked to Black Hat, then to the snake, then to Black Hat once again. A grin spread across her face.

“Were you… Were you talking to your pet snake?”

“No!”

“Oh my God, you so were! That’s adorable.”

“It’s not adorable. And I wasn’t doing it, anyway. Shut up! Fuck you! Get out!”

Dementia wiped her brow. She padded out of the room, retrieved her false nail and casually put it in her pocket for later reapplication.

“What a relief! I thought you were dating someone! I was gonna kill both of you, then myself, this is a huge load off."

Black Hat’s voice rose to a creak.

“What?”

“What, this some kind of freaky talking snake? I mean, you were really yammering at this thing. Did Flug make this? Uh, we know how the last animal thing went. I wouldn’t trust him.”

Black Hat looked away. He nearly chewed through his lip. Her amusement rose to smug elation.

“It doesn’t! Oh my God, it’s just a snake!”

“It’s not just a snake, you half-wit, it’s my blood python! Lil’ Jack, don’t listen to her.”

Dementia squealed, flapping her arms.

_“Lil’ Jack! He’s called Lil’ Jack, I’m gonna die!”_

“I really, really wish you would.”

“Come on, I gotta know, why a blood python?”

Black Hat took a breath as if he were composed and not dying painfully on the inside.

“Perhaps I admire the voracious appetite he sports, or his distinct and unusual colour. The way he hisses and puffs. Maybe it’s because he looks like a fat sausage and I think that’s charming. My only regret is that I didn’t think to invest in a reticulated python so I could leave it in your room as you slept and watch it strangle you to death.”

Dementia scratched an itch, looking around the rest of his bedroom. A large, black bed against red wallpaper. Some paintings, expensive drapes, and a large bookshelf that took up a wall. All in all, reasonably mundane. It wasn’t like the impossible geometry room he liked, that made her nose bleed and forced her to black out for weeks at a time. She could exist here without her brain melting out of her ears! Score! She hated stumbling into countless immeasurable horrors when trying to raid the pantry at night. Her gaze was drawn to the wide terrarium.

“What’s that thing on top? Is-- Did you get it a tiny hat?”

Black Hat couldn’t help but be adorably defensive. He pet Lil’ Jack, seeking some form of comfort.

“I don’t want him to look like a pleb. He’s a posh snake. A snake about town. He’s a charismatic specimen and I want everyone to know at first glance. Sometimes striking fear into the hearts of men means cutting down everything they love and cherish, and commissioning a tiny artisanal snake hat.”

Dementia considered the situation she was in. She did admit, Lil’ Jack was very cute. But she couldn’t help but find Black Hat, hopelessly, pathetically embarrassed, even cuter.

“I mean, snake owning, that’s kind of expected,” she said. “A bunch of people think they’re slimy and gross. It falls under those ‘big evil animals’ you’re expected to own. Like, uh… One of those scary dogs, or vultures. Maybe, like… An evil pheasant or something, I dunno. But sweet talking it? Buying it little hats, and giving it cute nicknames? You really love this thing, don’t you? It’s not like it can love you back; it’s a snake.”

His voice rose to a din.

“Lil’ Jack is very affectionate!”

He calmed himself as best he could, but his expression was locked. Dementia took great delight in this. He was tempering himself like he was having an argument in front of his beloved child.

“The only thing--”

He took a deep breath, his eyes wide open and his pupils shrunken. His voice was clipped and worryingly restrained.

“-- And I do mean the only thing stopping me from turning my ribs to teeth and tearing you like wafer-thin ham at lunch is that I have Jack on my shoulders and I won’t see him hurt. If you happen to forget about my…”

He mumbled.

“... _Doting_ … Then I’ll just so happen to forget about your flagrant disrespect for my privacy.”

She blinked.

“Oh! Oh, right, I can totally blackmail you, huh? I actually forgot.”

_“Oh fuck.”_

She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Oh yeah.”

“What is it you want?”

She sauntered over to his bed, sitting down. Black Hat resigned himself. She clapped, having thought of a perfect idea.

“Ooh, ooh! Next broadcast!”

She giggled, embarrassed. She looked away, scraping her shoe against the hardwood floor.

“I want you to put your arm around my shoulders… But in a super specific way. Like you’re some kind of untamable bad boy I’ve managed to win over, and you kind of respect me for doing it, but you still have a wild streak. You’ll stab a guy in a bar, but you’ll still kiss my hand. That kinda vibe.”

She tapped her chin, hemming and hawing.

“You’re not wearing a leather jacket on the outside, but you’re wearing one on the inside if you get what I mean.”

Black Hat clutched his face, groaning. Lil’ Jack followed his arm, wrapped around it.

“Can’t we just fuck and be done with it?”

“On the first date? No, no, no, come on. No. But I’ll, uh...”

She winked, purring at him.

“I’ll keep your interest in mind, pumpkin. You’re so eager!”  

Black Hat achieved a state of anger hitherto unknown to this plane of reality. Lil’ Jack bopped him gently on the face.

**Author's Note:**

> it's worth looking up a blood python; they really do look like fat sausages!


End file.
